I, Jadis
by Clairesse
Summary: Have you ever wondered how seemed from Jadis' perspective? How did she rise to become the Queen of Narnia? Before, during and after 'The Magician's Nephew', what was she thinking? "I've always loved the winter...in the Wood Between Worlds." Please review!


_Author's Note: I do not own any of the characters or places in this fanfic. These are all the wonderful property of C.S. Lewis :)_

_Hi everyone! This is a short oneshot about what happened to Jadis after Digory planted the tree to keep her out of Narnia after 'The Magician's Nephew', and before 'The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe'. This was originally meant for a writing competition, but I've changed the version that I'm going to use for that, so feel free to read this version in the meantime! And please review; reviews are really good. :P :D Thanks! (btw, I'm getting all my information about the history of Jadis from Wikipedia, I haven't read the Narnia books since I was about 8... ¬_¬.. so, I apologise for any inconsistencies!)_

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><p>I've always loved the winter. Its dark solemnity, coupled with the electric thrill of biting cold winds, stirred in me a great respect for the world. Nature: I wanted it to be this way forever, to create a freeze-frame of the austere beauty around me, so that I could bask in its crystalline radiance for –just one more day. But change happens: I cannot change that.<p>

A drop of chilly water raced down my hand as I pushed aside the tree branches in front of me, my breathing heavy with excitement. I felt like a child again as I raced through the Wood, thick leaves combing my dark hair back into a noble knot, and my sister's glowing green ring clasping my finger like a vengeful ghost.

The Wood Between Worlds. How long it had been. Our father, the Emperor of Charn, used to bring us here when my sister and I were both very young, to teach us the value of trivial seeming things. I stopped short, my breath catching in my throat.

To the mere mortal – to me, even, the avenue of trees before me seemed unassuming, unimportant. Their branches swayed invitingly in the wind, letting slip the faint chattering of dryads from the rustling russet leaves, which were recreated perfectly on the glassy surface of the pools below. That was the catch, our father used to murmur from behind his iron grey beard. The clear mirrors of water at the roots of each tree were not merely puddles holding tiny threads of life. Those silver dregs of water held entire worlds in their shallow depths, and many more lives than could be imagined. So bear in mind, dear children, nothing is as trivial as it may seem at first. Everything has life, in its way, and everything should be respected as such.

I have remembered those words, but I think even my father would admit, nine hundred years is a long time to spend in a forest that has no edge. After a week or two, one tends to have seen it all; it's just tree after tree after – oh, look, a squirrel, – tree. There are no clearings, no woodcutters, no life. It's a limbo of unvarying regiments of birches; a torture chamber whose main weapon of choice is boredom. And constant, blistering, heat. The Wood was only a place to pass through; when wandering spirits lost their way between worlds. Consequently, it is high summer all the time here. It has been for nine hundred years. There is no night-time to speak of, and no one has passed through. Perhaps Aslan re-routed the poor, lost souls to torment me further; to mock me, even. For no one is as lost as Jadis, the empress with a heart of ice.

I slipped my aching feet out of my wooden sandals, and paced into the avenue. The quiet was almost reverent; the trees did not stir. Maybe they could see that I was sorry, and had been for centuries, centuries. My eyes drifted from pool to pool, halting as they reached a dry patch beneath a withered tree. I hadn't wanted to murder my sister, or decimate my own world. But we had allowed ourselves to go too far down the path of rivalry and hatred; past all hope of reconciliation, and in our blindness, we transformed Charn into a Braille sign that spelt 'corruption'. So I had said it. The Deplorable Word. And I had been forced to watch while the fabric of the world, that I myself had torn, was destroyed utterly.

But now, nine hundred years after banishment from my refuge of Narnia, I could return, and build a life. The boy Digory would not be there to drive me away, and Aslan would be welcoming. Perhaps finally I could show him what he put me through in this accursed place.

I looked to the pool opposite where Charn had lain, and slipped my foot onto its surface. Cool water met my toes, where before there had been glass. I was free. I closed my eyes in a reverie, hardly daring to hope, and immersed myself the coolness of the crystal pool.

Cold wind hit my sunburned face as I inhaled a breath of sweet Narnian air, and stood. I could feel the Deep Magic pulsing through the air -through me once more- like familiar music, and a slow tear of relief fell from my eye. I raised my hand, feeling magic flow through my veins again, and stir at my fingertips, nipping at me like the icy breeze. The white landscape stretched before me like a royal welcome, so strange, so beautiful. I've always loved the winter.

Now, Narnia. Freeze.

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><p>Hope you enjoyed it :). Don't forget to review; constructive criticism on my writing style is also appreciated! :D Thanks!<p> 


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